


The Morning After

by eiyria



Category: Dresden Files - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-15
Updated: 2011-10-14
Packaged: 2017-10-24 15:18:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eiyria/pseuds/eiyria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry is blackmailed into robbing a bank. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 0

**THE DAY AFTER:**

I strolled confidently through the bank's backdoor. The security guard let me through easily enough. After all, the Sells were expecting me.

Shabby briefcase in hand, I hurriedly made my way to the fire-door stairs. I have long legs. I could have climbed them two at a time, but I didn't. I took my time, trying to keep my breathing steady. For what I was about to do, I needed to have my wits together; and right now I was feeling a mixture of fiery determination and butterflies in my stomach.

When I reached the top, I didn't hesitate to open the door. It opened to a small hallway with maybe 3 offices and a unisex bathroom. I turned right and pushed the bathroom door open with the tip of my worn boot. It was light, and swung open easily enough.

I went inside, and laid my briefcase on the sink-shelf. I reached into my pocket and drew out a pair of dark gloves. I put them on and popped the clasps on both ends of the case, I flicked it open. Inside, the case was coated with dollar bills. Benjamin Franklins to be precise.

However, they were not the only thing occupying the case. I stacked a few bill wads to the side and reached down to pull out a dull black police-issue fire arm. I stared at it for a second, momentarily frozen. My hands shook.

I gently set the gun back down.

I grabbed the edges of the sink, sunk my head, and squeezed my eyes shut. Why was I having second thoughts now? I knew what the Sells had done. Done to me and my family. For that I couldn't let them go free. I was doing this for all the right reasons. Why then did I feel hesitation.

I held myself there for a moment, shaking, regretting, hating, loathing. A cacophony of emotions that I couldn't identify hammering through my head.

I took a breath. And then another. I used a technique my foster father had taught me. Slowly all my doubts melted away, like a wave flattening a sandcastle with every pull of the tide.

I opened my eyes and unclenched my bone-white hands from the sinks edge. My fingers were stiff and I shook them a little. Color began to crawl back into them again.

I reclaimed the gun, made sure the safety was on, and shoved it down the back of my pants in the small of my back -the way they do on TV. I replaced the spot where the gun had been with the stacks of dollar bills, closed the case lid, grabbed it with my gloved left hand, and swept it of the sink ledge.

I opened the door and proceeded to the office at the end of the narrow hallway. The hallway had a low hanging ceiling that came uncomfortably close to touching the top of my head.

I ignored it and focused on the task ahead.

I looked at nothing and thought of nothing. The calm I'd generated in the restroom gave me a strange distanced feeling.

I knocked lightly on the door before proceeding in. My employer Victor Sells was flipping through a clipped folder on his desk. He motioned to me with his hand.

Without my eyes ever leaving Sells, I looked around the room. His wife and two-faced-bitch-of-a-woman, Monica Sells was no where to be seen. In fact, none of his posse of doom was in the room.

Perfect.

"So, Harry," he paused in a typical creepy fashion, the way all these evil archetypes seem to adore. "I've been expecting you."

I carefully didn't say anything.

He snuck a quick glance up at me, before returning his attention to the folder at hand. He closed it and put it down on a neatly stacked pile of paper. He laid his arms on the desk, steepled his fingers contemplatively, and leaned his forehead against his upturned fingers. "Well, give me my money and I'll tell Mrs. Stanton to stand down."

I felt my lips peel back into a growl. "How about you call her off my daughter right now, then I'll think about giving you this case?"

Victor's eyes narrowed. "You should treat me better Harry. After all your daughter's life depends on it."

I bit my lip and lowered my eyes.

Victor sighed in an undignified manner. "Well, I suppose it is understandable." He motioned towards my suitcase. "But first I need a little incentive. Open the case."

I nodded and opened the case.

Victor reached in and took one of the stacks. He turned it around in his fingers, taking it in with his eyes. Victor seemed to find what he was looking for, and reached over to the phone on his desk. He picked it up and began dialing. A few minutes later I heard the click of someone picking up on the other line. "Jennifer," he rasped into the phone, "It is done. Leave the kid alone." I heard something like an affirmative grunt on the other side. Victor lowered the phone back onto the square plastic cradle.

The second I heard the click of disconnect, I reached behind my back and quickly drew out my gun. I met his eyes for a terrible second, and made sure his met mine. I spoke clearly. In the after life I wanted him to remember my words. "You should not have fucked with my little girl." Then I shot him in the head before I could consider the consequences of my actions. The gun was louder than expected, I probably should have invested in one with a silencer. At the moment though, I could think of nothing at the moment. My mind was blank. I had just killed a man for the first time in my life, and I didn't think I cared. I felt nothing, well, maybe a little cold. Marcone was right, I suppose, these types of things change you. He would know, the bastard.

My previous employer's head snapped back, his eyes wide and unfocussed. His body rocked the chair back, and his unbalanced corpse slumped to the floor.

I left the open case on the office desk. I didn't need it. I didn't want it. It wasn't really even mine.

I went around Victor Sell's desk and nudged his body aside with my foot, and grabbed the tiny garbage tin. I took the little garbage baggy out of it and emptied it. Cujo had told me about safeties -or something- at the bank, I just mimicked his movements and hoped it was enough before putting the gun into the now empty bag and heading for the door. I'm sure the shots would alert the security guard and the cops would be on their way.

Gloves on, I opened the door gently and pattered down the cement stairs. The little plastic baggie thudded over my shoulder with every downward step. My legs moved fast and I managed to reach the ground level in record time.

I kicked the door open a little, and when no bullets decided to make themselves known, I walked out. Outside, I found the security guard gone, and his walky-talky smashed and broken on the ground. For someone who pays a great deal of money to have their own personal protection, you'd think that someone would do a background check, ask around, and find out if the person was a coward or had any experience.

I moved quickly -running- I figured the cops would be there soon and I should get as far away as possible. After running for ten minutes I finally began to consciously feel the burn of my lungs pounding in my chest. Taking a momentary brake, I walked to the closest dumpster and dropped the baggie inside.

Cops weren't that incompetent though. I was positive they'd do a sweep of the area and find it, and I just had to believe that the gloves had kept my prints off of the weapon. It wasn't like they could trace it back to me, after all, it was Marcone's gun.

As my heart rate slowed and my breathing returned to semi-nomalicy, I finally took notice of the cop siren from a distance. My body bent over, hands on my knees, I pushed myself up. I checked myself for blood on my clothing, and by some stroke of luck, there wasn't any I could see. Instead of contemplating the unlikelihood of such a thing, I forced my aching legs to run and my soaked-in-sweat body to move.

I had to get back to Maggie. Even if Victor's phone call had stopped Jennifer from hurting her, it was only a matter of time before she would find out the news. Wether she decided to enact revenge on my daughter or not, I didn't want to be there to find out.

I wasn't really looking, so when I ran out from behind the back of the building I nearly got hit by a dark colored Prius. A shadow moved from behind the tinted window, and the door was thrust open. Gentleman John Marcone was in the back.

He smiled a big tiger smile at me, and it didn't seem to reach his eyes. I hesitated for a second before throwing myself in, and slamming the door behind me. I could feel Cujo's disapproval from the driver's seat.

"I was afraid you were going to be stubborn and reject my charitable ride," he said in a smug and professional fashion.

"I'm not going to banter with you Marcone, not even about the Prius," I uttered softly before turning to face him. "Right now I have more important things to worry about."

His face gave nothing away, but he seemed to take a moment to consider my words. He reached into his suit pocket and drew out a small stack of papers, rubber banded together. "Here are two new identities, passports, birth certificate, social security card -they're all there- and a driver's license, car registration and insurance for yourself."

I took the bundle of papers from him. "Thank you."

He froze. After the smart-assed way I'd behaved only a day ago, who could blame the guy. "Are you sure you're not feeling ill Mr. Dresden? You're not acting like yourself," he muttered. "And there is no need to thank me. After all, the fifty thousand you paid me was more than enough."

"It wasn't my money," I said more to myself than him, "And you were going to rob that bank anyways."

Aggravatingly he put both hands on his knee and leaned back into the seat. "It's funny how that happened."

I didn't know what he meant by that, and I sure as hell didn't care. In less than thirty minutes, me and Maggie would be out of here, driving off unto - "Wait. Marcone. You said there was car registration in here. What car?"

"Well Mr. Dresden," his smug smile returned, "It just so happens that you are the owner of one dark navy Prius, courtesy of one of my manufacturing companies."

I didn't believe him for a second. Toyota was a foreign company. He had to be bluffing, there was no way one criminal scumbag could have that much power.

"Ah," Marcone tisked, "We're here."

Cujo and Marcone both got out and started walking away from the parked Prius. A black car, more suitable for his profession, zipped around the corner, and upon coming to a halt, the two men climbed inside. Marcone waved a hand in a nonchalant gesture and said, "Best of luck Harry."

On learned habit I began to tell him he couldn't call me that, but the door was closed, and the car was already moving away.

I turned and approached my front door. The conversation in the car had lowered my defenses, and I began to feel emotions ravage me again. I physically choked at the shock. I felt dizzy, and the realization of what I did flooded back into me.

I'd killed a man. I hadn't ever done that before. And the knowledge that it was just so simple, terrified and sickened me. One little bullet, the corpse slouching to the ground, Victor dead -the whole mess seemed so insignificant. Death was suppose to be significant. It was suppose to happen to old people who'd had a nice long fulfilled life. The passing of a person should have been something that affected me. What scared me the most was that I felt more disgusted for not feeling, than the actual act of murder itself. I violently emptied my stomach on the front doorstep. There wasn't much in my stomach anyways.

Murder.

That's right. I'd killed a man. I'm pretty sure Susan hadn't intended for her Maggie's baby-daddy to be a killer. She wouldn't have wanted that. If she had known, she would have taken the kid far away, and never let me see her.

I went inside, rinsed my mouth and washed my hands in the kitchen sink. I needed to pack both of our things, and get in the Prius fast. I wasn't even sure where we'd go, just anywhere but Chicago. What was I going to tell her when she asked why she had to leave her friends and her home? I had a lot of questions, to which I had very few answers. Just thinking of it made me more exhausted than I already was.

I could hear Maggie, come bounding across the room. She sprang to a halt when she saw the state I was in. "Daddy. You're kind of wet. Did you go swimming?" Then she paused, and tilted her head in deep thought. "Why did you wear your work cloths in the swimming pool?" An understandable question considering I looked like I'd taken a nose dive into a sweat filled swimming pool.

Kids are amazing. Sometimes they can be exhausting beyond imagination, and other times they can make eating a prickly cactus seem like a good idea. Just one comment from her, and a smile replaced all my fears and tribulations. She appeared, and my world went from dark and dreary to sunshine and daffodils.

I walked past her, ruffling her hair on the way, heading towards the shower. "That's right Mag-let, It's been a crazy day. Grab something from the fridge and heat it up. I'm going to take a quick shower, and then we're going on vacation." I drawled out the last syllable of 'vacation', and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her eyes widen.

I headed towards the shower, planning to leave. I knew that for the next few days, weeks, -hell- years, I'd probably still have nightmares about what transpired over the past two days.

Victor, the bank, Marcone -all of it.

I groaned. "Heck," I said, toning down my language for young ears, "How do I get myself into these things?"


	2. 1

**THE DAY BEFORE:**

"Hell," I said, not caring who heard me, "How do I get myself into these things?"

Working at Sells Bank was suppose to be a dream job for someone who only had only gotten his G.E.D. Hell, I don't know how I even landed the job, especially considering my background. In my youth the police department and I may have had a few misunderstandings. Nothing big, just your run-of-the-mill arson charge.

Presently, I was trying to clock in to begin my workday, when the sign-in device decided to stop working. Just my luck. I'm a walking technobane. My cellphone was crap and dropped more calls than Enron dropped employees.

The device gave a loud clear blaring noise and I jerked away with surprise. I hadn't heard that before. When no one showed up to investigate the noise, I took it upon myself to find my supervisor. I took the stairs grudgingly and opened the door to the office hallway. I took a quick left and pushed open the door where my supervisor generally worked. Instead I came face to face with her young secretary sitting behind a basic desk.

"Hey Harry!" Kim greeted enthusiastically. "What brings you up here?"

Hells bells, some days I just wanted to go unnoticed. As it turns out, Kim Delany used to be my young plucky apprentice. That was before I'd learned of her ravenous ambitions. She was only using me as a teacher so that she could go farther in her career. She was young, pretty, had a college degree in something-or-another, and had plenty of extra time at hand. It was only natural that they picked the opportunistic young girl -er- woman over a burned-out single father with a G.E.D. I didn't hold it against her, it is how the world works. And as a result, things were still okay between us.

"Uh," I mumbled, ever the proponent of wit, "Well, I tried to clock-in, and well, it er-"

"Again Harry?" Kim questioned in a small soft voice. "You're really no good with electronics. That is really weird."

"Yeah," I said, shifting uncomfortably, "You know me." Enough time had passed and I just wanted to get my day started, so I flat out asked her, "Do you know where Monica is? I need to start, and I need her to know I was here on time."

Kim's hands typed very fast and she seemed to ignore me for a while.

"So," I drawled out, rocking forward on the balls of my feet casually, "Is she in the office behind you?"

Kim's fingers plucked at the keys for a few seconds more before she looked up at me. A smile broke over her delicate features. "There's no need Harry, I did it from my computer."

I stared at the machine with surprise, then back at her. "You can do that?" I asked, "I mean, from the computer? You don't have to go to the little box on the wall and- you know," I struggled with the words, like I said, walking technobane, "do stuff?"

She laughed pleasantly in her seat, and only then did I notice I'd been illustrating my problem with erratic hand motions. Once she got control of her laughter she looked at me, eyes shining. "Harry, you really know nothing about technology. I'm surprised you can answer a phone, more or less work as a bank teller. Where were you raised? A farm in the middle of nowhere?"

I wasn't going to answer that.

She didn't seem to notice my lack of response, but her mood became serious none the less. "Don't worry Harry, it is all taken care of. You can get to work now."

I gave her a small smile. "Thanks for taking care of it. I really didn't need to bother Monica again. She's getting kind of sick of it." Then I turned to leave.

And then the door opened and my boss, the big boss - Victor Sells- strolled in. "Harry," he ground out my name under his breath. "Just the man I wanted to see." He paused for a moment to consider me, and then shoved a cardboard box into my hands. "Gather your things, put them in this box, and come see me afterwords."

I froze. Put my things in a box? I couldn't be fired. I needed the job. It was the best job I'd probably get. Maggie.

I felt the energy deflate out of me.

Victor had already started talking to Kim, something about business, I wasn't really listening. I stumbled out the door, and nearly fell down the stairs. Everything was a blur as I made my way down to the small break-room. I took some items out of my locker and numbly stuffed them into the box. As stuff began piling up, I found myself throwing items in violently. A quick look around me confirmed I'd been making a bit of a scene. I have anger issues, so sue me. More so than other people.

I scooped up my box and trotted back up the stairs towards Victor's Office. Face down, I nudged the door open with my shoulder and stood just inside the room.

Victor looked up at me, and motioned for me to come closer. "Don't worry Harry," he laughed, "You're not being fired."

I looked up at him with surprise in my eyes. My anger and worry evaporated. "Whaaa-?" I said cleverly.

He chuckled and looked down at some papers. "Harry Dresden. Born -oh- Halloween. How very interesting. What I have on you says you've been with the bank about six years. Monica didn't rate your communication skills very high, but it seems your efficiency and punctuality have extremely high markings."

"This almost sounds like a performance review," the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them. I shut my mouth tight and moved my eyes to look anywhere else. Eye-contact wasn't exactly my forte, it was part of the reason Monica Sells had docked my communication skills rating last year.

"That is because it is a performance review," said Victor darkly. I couldn't help but notice the annoyance in his voice. Way to go Harry. Piss off your boss who has just decided not to fire you. "Actually, we've had a spot available at Sells bank. My wife and I, had hoped you'd be able to fill it."

I could feel my eyes widen. "A promotion," I breathed breathlessly. My voice caught in my throat.

"You could call it that, I suppose," Victor muttered. "The pay would be very handsome. I understand you have a little girl. It would be nice to be making a little more on the side. Make a little more to buy her a nice little dress." He paused a bit to let me consider. He took out a pen and paper and wrote something down. "Lawrence's disappearance was unexpected. And this," he held up the piece of paper, "Is what I'd be able to offer you if you took the position."

I breathed in very slow and fought back a gasp. That was a lot of money. That was a lot of temptation.

"Mr. Sells, your offer is very generous, but what exactly do you want me to do?"

His expression darkened and a very cold feeling crawled along my shoulders. "I understand Harry, that you don't exactly have the cleanest history."

Stars -I didn't have a good feeling about this, and it was only getting worse.

Victor stood from behind his desk and walked around towards me. "You see, my bank is in a bit of trouble. We're having problems with keeping all our books balanced. In fact, if we don't get balance these debts soon, I may have to let everyone go, the bank will die. And what happens when a bank can't make required legal payments? Well, the resulting scandal could blacklist all those employees without jobs."

"I can't," I muttered, "I'm not like that. I won't-"

He moved closer. "What about Maggie? What happens when Daddy can't pay for her home? How are you going to answer her questions when the police come to your door to question you? What happens when you are blacklisted and can't get a job -who's going to bring home the money to put food on the table?"

My fist clenched underneath the box, and I think if I didn't have it in my hands, I would have punched my boss -right here and now. The anger in me was nothing like I'd felt before. It was furious at the man who was threatening me and mine.

"Is this a picture of her?" He pointed to a small frame in my cardboard box, "I wonder if you'll be able to watch your little girl go hungry and starve?"

That was the last straw. I threw the box down violently on the ground, and swung my fist with all the momentum and force of an unskilled brawler. My punch was so completely telegraphed, that he could have moved out of the way, but he didn't. He stood in the line of my punch, and by the time I figured it out, my fist had already connected with his face.

He fell to the floor, stunned by the force of the blow, the place where I'd hit was turning bright pink quickly. Slowly he clambered back on his feet. He was smiling.

Sweating from stress, I numbly grabbed at the door handle. I pulled the door open a crack before Victor got in front of me, and slammed it shut with one hand.

His eyes motioned towards the far wall where a camera was pointed back at us. "Harry," he spoke.

I growled. I don't like assholes using my name. Victor definitely qualified as an asshole.

"That," he said, "Was assault. I could call the cops and you could go to jail. And I'm sure you've figured it out, it is all on video."

I was so pissed, I didn't even care. "Go ahead, try it. From what you say, I'm screwed either way. At least with the security tape, they'll be able to hear you confess to all the problems with the bank -Hells Bells- I might not even get blacklisted."

A smile crossed his face. "But the video doesn't have sound, and even if the police had someone who could read lips, the camera has been pointed at you the whole time. I've been behind my desk for the entire conversation and they can't see my face from this angle."

I froze. To any viewer, it would look like I just got angry, lost it, and punched someone in the face. Someone who did nothing to protect themselves. But I was still able to deal. I had friends on the force who would listen to me, and prove my innocence. They just had to follow the books, balances, and accounts. I could still get out of this.

"No Victor," I replied confidently, "I won't help you. I'm not that kind of man."

I turned to leave a second time when Victor spoke up. "I regret having to do this Harry. I really hoped we could have worked something out." He returned to behind his desk and the cold feeling began to creep back up my neck. "It seems I have no choice. You see, I'm in a very dangerous situation, I've got to protect my assets. I guess we have to do this the hard way."

"What-" I spat, "Do you mean?"

"If you don't do exactly as I say, your cute little daughter will have a bullet lodged in her temple within the next twenty-four hours. And don't think you'll be able to keep her out of harms way. I've hired the best."


	3. 2

**THE DAY BEFORE:**

I stood blocking the revolving doors in front of the main entrance of Sells' Bank. My body was tense and I could feel the gun in my waist band. Sweat began to pool on my forehead and breathing became increasingly harder.

The security guard on duty gave me a nasty glare. He must have been one of the new hires, because he didn't recognize me. And everyone recognizes a nearly seven foot giant walking around in the work place.

"If you don't do this," I told myself under my breath, "Then Maggie pays the price for it." I took a deep breath and it was all I needed. I readied my thoughts in a way akin to what my foster father had taught me years ago. He was a real bastard, but he did teach me some invaluable things. I didn't get rid of my emotions completely though, especially given what I was about to do. In life threatening situations a healthy dose of fear is vital to survival. There is also a gut instinct that relies on being able to read emotions, you have to be the opposite of cold to pick up the signs that an individual is about to do something stupid. I didn't need to weaken myself, I couldn't completely get rid of my feelings. So I only pushed my emotions back to the point where they weren't paralyzing.

In the nature of a pirate walking the plank to his death, I put one foot in front of the other, and pushed my way through the revolving doors into Sells' Bank.

The gun didn't set off any of the alarms, Victor had disable them beforehand.

The plan was simple really. Victor Sells' bank was in deep shit. After a few underhanded dealings of nefarious sorts, recognizable only by the omission of a few digits from the balancing books I'd worked with, Victor had placed a little too much investment on a failing enterprise. The failing enterprise whose name went by Linda Randall -classy lady who knew how to work her men for more than just money. Monica would not have approved.

Things turned out as they usually do in these types of situations, in other words, badly. Enterprise Linda Randall had been bought up by an infamous local Outfit leader, a man who went by the title of Gentleman Johnny Marcone. I'd never seen his picture before, even though he was allegedly all over the news. Which is perfectly understandable considering I am a single father of one energetic eight year old. In fact, I was pretty sure I had a firmer understanding of My Little Pony, than of the general state of the world around me.

The bottom line being, Victor lost a lot of money, and could no longer ensure his customer's deposits up to the federal standard level. In other words, Victor needed money, and he needed it before anyone caught on. So, as is customary of these wealthy business entrepreneurs, he devised a clever plan. He would hold his own bank up at gun point, take a little more than the necessary money to fill his debts, report it as stolen, then collect both his stealings and the hunking reimbursement check from the government -or whoever it was who did these things. And no one would ever be the wiser.

All he needed was a patsy. So he turned Harry Dresden, struggling, single father into his bitch.

I had absolutely no experience robbing a bank. Burning a building -sure- everyone's done it at some point or another; but robbing a bank, Susan would roll in her grave if she knew. So I drew from my resources of the subject, a.k.a. every old Warner Brother's motion picture ever glamorized. And of course, I wore the long-ass black coat to go with it.

"Everyone on the floor!" I yelled, drawing out my gun and raising it in what I hoped was a threatening manor. I looked for the new guy Victor had positioned here less than a week ago. I saw him and started towards him, "Lets play a game Mr. President. It's called spin the dial."

He didn't react, and I froze, unsure of what to do. Maybe I quoted the line wrong.

Then I looked closer at his expression. There was confusion there -crap, did he recognize me? No, no, not recognition. And I saw a lot of fear written in his face also. "Hey," I said, as I motioned towards him with the gun. He twitched, but not as much as I expected. I saw his eyes dart over quickly to the side, and confused, I turned to follow his gaze. Then I realized why he was acting particular. It just so happened, I wasn't the only one in Sells' Bank with a gun.

"Hi," I mouthed blankly at the man who caught my gaze.

He was a man in his prime, with hair to match, and deep eyes the color of worn dollar bills. He had a gun on him, and it was bigger than mine.

When I feel intimidated, I tend to get a little stupid and my mouth goes on autopilot. When I was younger this special gift didn't benefit me much when it came to school bullies. I'd like to think I've changed since then, but that would be lying.

"Who the fuck are you?" I demanded, thrusting out my chin a bit. "And who said you could rob my bank? Go find your own."

He looked at me with the oddest expression on his face. It was a bit irritated mixed with a contemplative and evaluative look.

"What?" I spat at him.

"It is just, I wasn't aware there were rules and regulations for criminals robbing banks. I was under the impression that being a criminal meant that you could break societies rules."

"I-," I pointed my gun at myself, something, that now that I look back upon probably wasn't the best move, "Am not a criminal."

His eyebrow raised higher up his face.

"And I don't have to take this crap from you. You can address me as Mr. Dresden, got that you criminal scumbag?"

"Alright Mr. Dresden," he said pacifically, "I would just like to point out that when robbing a bank, it is usually in one's own best interest to not yell your identity out to a handful of customers. It makes getting away with thievery a bit more difficult." Before I could interject he continued, "Also, you may not want to point a gun at yourself. Do you even know how to use one?"

I got mad. Maybe Susan was right. Maybe I did need a side helping of anger management. Anger made me do stupid things. I raise my gun at him. The man with dollar bill eyes didn't move a muscle, he didn't even twitch, but something, big and hulking moved quickly in front of him. And then I quickly pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

The big bulking red head who appeared in front of the shorter dollar-bill eyed scumbag looked a little shocked, but only momentarily, and he regained composure quickly. The scumbag did nothing.

I looked at my gun uncertainly. Why had it not fired?

"That's because the safety is on Mr. Dresden."

I looked up at his words, confused, "Safety?"

He maneuvered around the red haired body guard. "Yes, that and there is no magazine clip in the bottom, made visible when you were waving that weapon around and quoting Public Enemies. Also, I know the look of a new gun. And that is as new as they come, I doubt it has ever been loaded, so there is very little chance of a roulette bullet occupying the chamber."

"Yeah," I snarked, "Well, what would you have done if there had been. Life and death seems like a big gamble to take."

"I assume, from your comments, that you aren't wearing a bullet proof vest then?" He chuckled to himself in a forced genuine way, "Did you really think you could walk in here and rob a bank on a whim?"

Uh. Yeah. Actually I did.

"Did you even take any precautions or make any preparations?" He rolled his eyes, "Young men these days, if you're any testament to progress, I worry about future generations."

I eyed him, because by some short lived miracle, my mouth had stopped its rambling.

He stopped in front of me and took the gun out of my hands. "You're not even holding it right," he grumbled annoyed.

I raised my arms, and shoved him in a juvenile school-boy fashion. Big Red behind him seemed to take offense to that. "Boss," he grumbled.

The scumbag made a dismissing gesture with his right hand-filled gun, as he wiped my gun clean of prints with his left hand. "Now," he said in a calm tone, "You're going to go home, possibly leave town now that all these people have seen your face, and keep on living the happy life. You're never going to do something this stupid again, understand me?"

"Fuck you," I growled. "Who the hell do you think you are, telling me to get out of town? You think you're high and mighty? You think you run this town!" I yelled the last part.

"Well," he said as a crocodile smile appeared on his features. "Actually, I think I do. I'm surprised you don't. Perhaps one of these lovely bankers can help you out." He motioned to the man I'd quoted John Dillinger to upon my arrival.

"Please, just leave, please," he murmured in almost a sacred prayer. He looked up and saw the two of us, lowered his eyes, and spat out quickly, "Gentleman John Marcone."

I snorted, "Yeah right." My confidence was back. This guy was a poser. I could still pull this off. I could still save my daughter. "Nice try man. I guess I forgot to introduce myself too, my name is Mahatma Gandi, it is a real pleasure." I held out my hand in a mock shake.

I pushed past him. "Now move out of my way," I looked at the bystander I had targeted in the beginning. "Even without a gun, I can beat you within an inch of your life, and if you try to run away, I think these other guys might shoot. So why don't you grab me the money out of the vault, give it to me, and then we can all go home. You'll be safe. I'll be safe. And my daughter won't have a fucking sniper looking at her through a lens on her way home from school. Now hurry the fuck up!" I didn't realize I was screaming until I stopped speaking.

Everyone, and I mean everyone was staring at me. I might have come off a little crazy. It is not every day that you scare gun toting Americans just my sounding like a nut job. Taking advantage of this, I grabbed the guy by the back of the neck and dragged him towards vault. He made whimpering noises that no man of that age had any right to be making.

I shoved him at the vault, grabbed a pocket knife I usually keep in my pocket, and pressed it against the back of his neck. Hopefully he wouldn't notice it wasn't military grade. It worked, and he typed in the combo for the vault lock. He spun the vault a few times like a gym room locker, and then slowly pulled the door open.

I didn't worry about the wana-be Marcone outside. If he was smart, which he had already proved to be with the exception of his fictitious name, he would just wait to jump me for the money, instead of interfere.

I unraveled a smaller plastic garbage bag, fresh and folded from the package, and motioned for him to put the green in it. I was surprised Sells kept so much money on hand, especially with the rise of credit cards and the like.

The man just kept piling in wads of Benjamin Franklins, and when I knew I had enough for Victor, I closed the bag and tied it up.

I walked out of the vault and into the Bank's main hall, only to find not-so-Marcone blocking my way.

"Get out of my way," I growled menacingly.

"Alright Harry, just tell me how you're going to get past the wall of cops outside?"

My jaw dropped. "Cops?" I gulped. Then my brain caught up with my ears. "Wait. You called me Harry. How did you know my name?" I demanded.

He didn't say anything, just held up a small black device in his gun-free hand.

I quirked an eyebrow. What the hell was he trying to tell me?

He seemed to get my confused expression, and elaborated, "It is a blackberry."

My blank look was here to stay.

He sighed, "A phone. I looked you up in the yellow pages. You know your ad for your old detective business is still being run? Anyways, please tell me you know what a phone is."

"I know what a phone is," I snarled. And then more politely I questioned, "They can do that? You know, look stuff up. On the internet-thingie?"

His features were scrunched in mock scrutinizing disbelief. "Yes Mr. Dresden. They can do that. The internet-thingie, as you call it."

"Oh."

I looked past his shoulder and started walking to try and get a better view.

He held out a hand to stop me. "I wouldn't do that if I were you. If you get to close to the windows, you'll be shot down."

I paled. "Crap."

No one said anything for a while. Not even the hostages. I guess they were hostages, because they were all huddled up behind a counter of some sort. "Crap. Crap. Crap," I cursed frantically, before lowering my head into my hands. "I'm sorry Maggie. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This wasn't suppose to happen. Oh Hells Bells, how do I get myself into this crap?"

"Do not despair Harry."

"Don't call me Harry."

I looked up, and he seemed amused by attitude given the current situation.

"I assume you have a daughter, that for whatever reason, you're doing this for?"

I didn't say anything.

"Tell me about her."

"You can go to hell," I snapped, "You're not going to get her. If you try, I don't care if I end up dead. I'll take you down too."

His face was blank. I couldn't read it. The man had a hell of a poker face.

Calm down Harry, I told myself, try not to piss off the man with a gun.

We were silent for a while. The Cujo the big red dog, maybe-Marcone, the hostages and I sat quiet for a full minute.

"Mr. Dresden," he spoke calmly. I gave him a look that was meant to shut him back up. "I would like to make a deal with you."


	4. 3

**THE DAY BEFORE:**

Poser-Marcone walked in front of me, and I followed unwittingly. I turned my head back to look at his red-haired buddy, but he was watching the entrance with a large gun in hand. I was just glad he was watching the door and not following his boss to help rob me of my stolen goods. Interesting how I, the robber was worried about being robbed. I shook my head clear of such thoughts and the man in front of me beckoned me closer.

"I'm not going to jump you Mr. Dresden, I just want to discuss a few things out of any witness' earshot." He waited while I lugged my money bag over to where he stood. "I'm very serious about making that deal. I can get you out of here. I can make it so that you can't get arrested."

"Yeah right," I said, "Look man, this whole 'I'm a badass-gangster-Marcone' spiel may work on your every day hunk-o-thug, but I'll have you know, I'm a banker. I don't fall for cons."

He sighed, as if exasperated, and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I take it you work here then."

I froze. "Uh. No," I denied, hoping my fear hadn't shown. "Why would I be robbing the bank I work for?"

"I'm well aware of Sells Bank's financial state," he said. "Normally, a banker already has access to large sums of money. They can steal it and then disappear themselves or just modify the books. If a banker robs a bank in the traditional sense, then I can only assume someone put him up to the task."

I didn't say anything. My mouth was very dry.

"I can get you out of here Mr. Dresden," he spoke softly, "However, it will cost you. Nothing too high, I assure you."

"Right," I drawled, "My freedom in exchange for my immortal soul." I may have strung out the word 'soul', but what can I say, adrenaline makes you do crazy things, and right now, my system was pumped full of it.

"Don't be so overly dramatic," Maybe-Marcone chastised, "Tell me the details of your situation and impart to me half of the cash value in that garbage bag, and in return I will make it so that you can escape your current predicament. Escape from this bank, the police, and the witness testimonies of all those in that room."

"Look mister, you seem like a nice enough bank robber," I groaned, "But this is way above your head. You aren't John Marcone. You're just a middle aged man who has hit his midlife crisis and decided to rob a bank with his football-playing best-friend."

"Then think of it this way. Why not trust me. It will cost you nothing."

I snorted.

"Given the current situation, there is nothing you can do. You are surrounded by police. You will either be arrested or shot - neither of which is in your best interest. So, if the result is going to be the same, why not just give me the benefit of the doubt? You've reached the point where things can't get any worse."

"Uhhgh. You just had to say that, didn't you?"

"Say what?"

"That."

"I'm not sure what you mean Mr. Dresden."

"That line." I waved my hand, "The one about things not getting worse."

He grinned. "Well, I mainly said it for your benefit. After all, you seem to already be on edge. Sane white-collar workers usually don't rob banks." He paused and then added, "And sane people don't tend to advertise themselves as 'Wizards' in the phone book."

"Like you're the one to talk. You're taking a bad guy's name. Sane people don't tend to provoke the attention of the Outfit."

"Believe what you like, but we're on a short time frame. I'm going to make a quick phone call, and then you are going to tell me about the trouble you're in."

He walked out of the small alcove and headed back towards the main room with the hostages and the giant red-haired man. I slumped into one of the many cozy chairs, and watched the man push buttons rapidly on his phone. I'm pretty sure dialing didn't take so many numbers. I took the brief amount of time to mull over all the thoughts in my head.

My concentration had broken a while ago, and even my foster father's teachings weren't enough to deal with the resulting stress of denying myself my emotions. So I took deep breaths, and focused on the task ahead of me. I was pretty sure fake-Marcone couldn't deliver what he promised, and in all likelihood I was going to be dead, and my daughter newly orphaned. In fact, I was almost positive this was all going to end with a bullet in my head; and while it would be a lot easier to just let it happen, I owed it to Maggie to try. Considering that she had to put up with a shitty dad who was engaging in illegal actions that would scar her for life, it was the least I could do.

And even if -no, when- I breathed my last, at least that stupid criminal scumbag would know that the bank robbery was not entirely my fault. Talking to another human being, it would give me some level of serenity. Just knowing that someone else was aware of what actually transpired, was the closest I was going to come to relieving all this god damned misplaced guilt.

The false-Marcone strolled back in, and took a chair next to me. Normally, I wouldn't engage in any form of communication with scum, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"I've decided to take you up on your deal."

"Oh," the man said unsurprised. I saw a grin happen. It was only there for a fraction of a second, but I know I saw it! The bastard could at least not laugh at me.

In a low voice I told him everything, and maybe a little bit more. I told him about Victor's money troubles, the hit man after my girl, and the specifics of the bank robbery. He listened, nodding his head every so often, probably a conscious effort to convey that he was actually listening. I was surprised the story was so short. It seemed like I'd need hours to explain, but our exchange was over in a matter of minutes.

Then his phone made a strange buzzing sound.

"Excuse me a minute Mr. Dresden."

He reached for his pocket, took out his phone, and looked at the screen of his phone and it lit up like a flashlight. After a moment he tucked it back in his pocket.

"You know," I grumbled, "You should really answer the phone when people call you."

He gave me a strange evaluating look for a second. Or maybe it was disbelief. "You can't seriously not know what a text message is?"

I raised an eyebrow in response.

"John, you okay?"

I looked over at the speaker. The red head was giving his criminal-buddy a curious look.

'John' rose from his chair and went over to check out the line of police outside from behind the safety of a large counter-ledge.

I thought I heard Big Red mutter something like: "Never seen the boss that baffled in his life." And decided to ignore him. Hells bells, plenty of people didn't know what a text message was. It wasn't that unheard of.

I twiddled my thumbs, not really sure what I was suppose to be doing.

Suddenly, Not-Marcone grabbed my arm and roughly hauled me to a standing position.

"Come on Mr. Dresden, we're getting out of here. Come with me."

I followed, quickly, but cautiously, making sure they didn't lead me into any traps or open windows that would leave me vulnerable to one of the cops on the ground. I knew the building layout, which helped.

Without letting go of my wrist, he pushed through one of the teller's doors, and entered into the back of the building. Quickly I followed him up the stairs, his big friend bringing up the rear.

We went up two flights, past the main offices, and onto the roof.

Where my jaw went slack.

And dropped.

There was a military issue helicopter landed on the roof. Let me repeat that for emphasis. Stars -There was a HELICOPTER on the ROOF!

I turned to look at the man holding my wrist. My mouth struggled to move. "You," I muttered, "You-'re. You. Him. You."

"Simple sentences," he chided edging me on. "Get it out Mr. Dresden. I know you can do it. Breathe."

"Oh my god, you're him." My mouth still didn't want to work right. "You're Gentleman John Marcone."

"Yes," he confirmed in a steady voice, as if talking to a slow child, "Very good. You're correct."

"The real Marcone."

"The very same."

"Not a fake-Marcone. Marcone - Marcone."

"Yes."

My momentary brain lapse was cut short by the red haired man. "Boss, the police will figure this out soon."

"I'm aware Mr. Hendricks, thank you. However, after enduring Harry's endearing denial all day, I want to engrave this into my mind forever."

"Don't call me Harry," I muttered on reflex.

The two of them ushered me into the revving helicopter, making sure I didn't drop my money bag.

Hendricks closed the door behind him as we put on headsets. I mouthed 'thank you scumbag' to Marcone, because I firmly believe in learning by example, and Maggie wouldn't have wanted me to forget my manners.

He frowned a bit, and pushed a button on his headset. I jumped a little as I heard his voice loud in my ears. "No thanks is necessary Mr. Dresden. Just deliver half of the money in the bag upon landing and I will begin the necessary arrangements to conclude our deal."

I just nodded in reply, because I have a history with electronics; and the last thing I needed right now was to try to speak through the headsets only to push the wrong button and self destruct the helicopter.

For the remainder of the trip I focused on the back of the pilot's head. She was a tall female with blond hair. The adrenaline that had kept me upright in the bank now left me exhausted, and I settled against the leather seats.

We arrived at our destination - the top of some building- not long after, and I wobbled out of the helicopter, and followed Chicago's Outfit leader.

For what seemed like the ump-teenth time I asked myself an age old question I'd been repeating for years.

"How do I get myself into these things anyways?"


	5. 4

**THE DAY AFTER:**

I got out of the shower and dried my hair. It was shaggy, and I was in desperate need of a hair cut.

I quickly got dressed, and went to check the kitchen for Maggie. My jaw dropped when I saw her bouncing on the balls of her feet in front of the door, sandwich in her mouth, and a roller-suitcase two times her size in tow. I could have sworn I'd only been in the shower for ten minutes tops. A quick glance to the clock backed me up on this.

"I say 'vacation' and you move like Flash. See -I knew you could do it. Why is it that we're always late for school then? Maybe every Monday I should tell you we're going on vacation. It would be nice to get to the office early sometimes." Not that I'd be going to my office ever again.

She rolled her eyes and did this little gesture with her hair. "Daddy-."

I smiled and started naming things off a list. "Do you have a toothbrush? Toothpaste? Lots of cloths? Hairbrush and comb? Your favorite blanket?"

"It's vacation," she protested, "Not forever. I don't need my blanket."

"But Maggie," I said in fake horror. "Nobody told you?"

Her face scrunched up confused. "Told me what?"

I wagged a finger at her. "This isn't one of those small 2 day vacations Murphy takes you on."

Her eyes got a little bigger.

"This is a big vacation. A huge vacation."

Her eyes widened even more. "Jabba the Hut big?"

"Bigger," I told her plainly. And yes, any child of mine was going to be fully educated in the way of the force.

"Hot Damn"

"Maggie!" I cried. "Language!"

"Whoops. Sorry."

"It is okay, just go get your blanket and a few other things that are important to you."

She scampered off and I sagged against the kitchen counter. I put away the sandwich bread that Maggie had left out in her hurry to pack. I cleaned it with a wet paper towel. I nabbed the paperwork and items Marcone had given me, and then turned to go to my room.

I didn't have the same punctuality my kid exhibited for 'vacation', but I did move fairly fast, and managed to collect my things in a suitcase. I shoved the paperwork neatly into the front compartment, making sure to keep hold of the Prius key. I grabbed a few valuables too -an old photo album of Maggie and a few worn things from Susan. I felt a pang in my chest, but pushed it away. Not now. Later.

When I finished, Maggie was by the front door again, a blanket and a stuffed unicorn sticking out of an open zipper. For the record, the Unicorn was not my idea. It was Murphy's. For whatever reason I did not like the things. Anything looking that beautiful and nice clearly can't be good for you.

"Ready Short-Stuff?" I asked.

"I'm not short," she huffed. "You're just really really tall."

"Okay, follow me, we're going in a different car this time."

I opened the door, and held it for her. She followed me out, and I helped her down the steps, holding the car keys with my mouth. I put her baggage down and gestured towards the Prius. "That's it over there."

I could have sworn I heard an 'oooooooo' of awe. I guess lack of comprehension of what made a good car, ran in the family.

We walked towards it, and after a few attempts at clicking the controller, the trunk finally opened. It was a bit small, so I put Maggie's massive suitcase in, and put mine in the back seat.

I opened the back door for Maggie, and being a kid, she crawled up into the passenger's seat. Before I could tell her 'no', she was already buckled in. Somehow the unicorn had escaped the suitcase and was now hanging loose in her arms. I stifled a growl and climbed in the driver's side.

I put the key in and started up the car. I was surprised at how quiet the car was.

Maggie noticed too. "I think something is wrong with your car," she whispered. "It isn't making loud sounds or clunking noises."

I cringed, but didn't let her see. "It is fine Mag-let. There is nothing wrong with the car."

When I mastered control of my facial expression, I looked at her, and her face was plastered with disbelief.

"I promise. You're going to be fine." I checked my mirrors and began to pull away from the curb. Then I added, "You can turn on the radio if you like. It actually works here, unlike in the beetle."

She started pressing buttons, and eventually we were listening to some mainstream bubble-gum songs. She passed out in minutes after leaving home, and I gladly turned the radio off as I sat in traffic.

A short while after Maggie fell asleep, I heard my cell phone ring. Odd. Usually it just dropped my calls. Maggie stirred from her brief slumber and looked around with sleepy eyes. She reached for my bag in the back seat and somehow found my phone. I tried to grab it while keeping my eyes on the road. It didn't work.

"It's Mrs. Murphy," she mumbled sleepily, and flipped the phone open. Before she could answer I chanced a glance, grabbed the phone, and snapped it shut.

"What? Daddy?"

"We're on vacation. That means no calls. No work. Just relaxation," I told her in all seriousness. "Whatever Murph has to say, I'm sure it can wait."

"It's Mrs. Murphy. Dad- you can't be serious."

"I'm completely serious," I said, and to prove how serious I am about having fun," I rolled down my window an chucked the phone out onto the pavement.

Maggie looked at me like I'd lost my mind. Maybe I had.

Murphy had called. She knew something. And if she knew something, there was a good chance other people had figured it out as well. Running from my only cop friend might hurt her and make her see me as guilty; but I figured it would hurt less than if I was caught and tried. At least I could save her some public humiliation.

I focused on the road ahead. We were out of the city limits now and all I could think about was home. It was probably burnt down now. All evidence reduced to rubble. And for the record, that wasn't my fault either. The night before Marcone and I had come up with this scheme. The plan was to leave nothing behind. I understood he was criminal scum, but where my daughter was concerned, it didn't matter how far I had to lower myself. Susan had left her as my responsibility and I intended to fulfill her final wish, no matter how selfish my motivations.


End file.
